Lauren, Part Seven

My belt is over two inches wide and when doubled over the heavyweight leather makes for a fearsome instrument of correction, and Lauren jerked her head involuntarily as the cruel black leather left its imprint upon her bare, helpless bottom.

I paused after the first stroke had been laid on to admire my handiwork, but also to give Lauren a moment that would allow the bite of the leather to really sink into her consciousness. I saw that she had clenched her teeth with her lips wide open and was breathing heavily through her mouth as she rode the  kiss of the leather. Her bottom was already marked with a redness that was as wide as the belt, but more noticeable on her right cheek. As I was standing on her left that made sense, but it would mean that I would have to move to the other side of the bed later to even out the colouring as it were.

That was for the future. For the present I lifted my arm again and brought it down with all the force of my shoulder muscles behind it onto that helpless bottom that lay underneath. About an inch above Lauren's rump I flicked my hand backwards so that the belt carried on under its own momentum, but only the end catching her bottom with all its might.

"Please God, this is hurting. You lay it on as hard as he did. It's like my dad's back whupping me again," Lauren cried out with all the power of her lungs. 

"Keep still. Remain in position. If you move you will be given extra, that I can promise you," I said by way of reply. Lauren had made no attempt to move, by the way, but I still feel that it did her now harm to hear my command, just in case she was planning anything silly.

Lauren calmed herself down and dropped her head into her fists again. I waited a moment - one should always wait a moment I feel - and then I delivered strokes three, four, five and six, one after the other. Each one hard, and each one meant to hurt, as I taught that saucy young doxy to know her place.

Having administered the first half dozen I walked around to the other side of the bed as I felt that is was time to give the other cheek some kisses. Before I began the second stage of the thrashing, I took a moment to press Lauren deep into the pillows and order her to arch her back for the remaining strokes. Apart for a single whimper she made no sound as she carried out my orders. Then, with her back arched to my satisfaction, I raised the wicked leather again and brought it down with a firm, solid whack across a bottom that was rapidly lost its moon-like hue and was now beginning to resemble a hot august sun.

I then gave her the second half dozen, calmly and methodically, and as each cut landed all Lauren did was twist her hips involuntarily and clench her buttock cheeks. I waited as I always do until she had relaxed her bottom before I laid on another stroke. When she failed to relax after one particularly ferocious kiss I told her quite simply that if she did not loosen her bottom for the belt then I would add extra strokes to the punishment. She did as she was ordered and apart from that one moment of insolence, the girl did not give me an ounce of trouble when undergoing her correction.

A dozen strokes had then been well laid on and Lauren was sobbing heartily into her hands. As I paused to consider the work in progress she turned to look at me with her tear streaked face and she began to nplead for mercy and forgiveness:

"Please, please, I have sure enough learned my lesson. Please daddy, let me go and I will be a good girl from now on," she begged.

Should I let her go? That was the question that ran through my mind. Then I decided that a bottom under the hand is worth any number travelling off to the United States and out of reach, and I told her my decision:

"I'll give you six more to grow on!"

"Nooooo, please, that is too many," she whimpered, still making no attempt to either cover her bottom or get up from the bed. Clearly the odd protest was allowable under her father's old rules, but anything else was strictly forbidden, and Lauren had taken that lesson to heart.

"Arch your back. Relax your buttock cheeks, or you will receive extra," I told her. Lauren did as she was told with only a minimum of fuss and I raised my arm for the thirteenth time that day.

Crack! The leather bit into Lauren's sorely tried buttocks, as it did again with number fourteen and then again with the fifteenth cut. I noticed as this last tranche was being administered that Lauren riding her hips up and down in a way that can only be described as lascivious. As I walked around to the other side to administer the final three she continued to do that and I realised with an involuntary smile that she was in sexual ecstasy.

I lifted the belt three more times and each time I  brought it down with a solid crack across her Lauren's fiery red buttock cheeks. As each crack landed Lauren gasped and ground her pussy deeper into the pillow, her teeth clenched in the snarl of a lioness as the leather bit into her helpless flesh.

"Please stop now. Please I'm begging you," she said.

That was fine by me as my arm was aching and I considered the punishment to be over anyway. I ran my hand down Lauren's back and when I reached her bottom I let my fingers play down it until I reached her pussy. Then I slipped my middle finger inside her and she arched her back upwards to receive it.

"My, my, what an excited little whore you are," was all I said.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part Six

"Right, girl, you know why you are here," I said as soon as the door to our third floor room had been closed and locked. 

Lauren began to fidget, fingering her long cotton skirt as she did so, but she said nothing. Time to increase the voltage, I decided:

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, girl," I instructed. Good, she was now doing her best to look me in the face. Not doing a very good job, it has to be said, as her eyes darted all around it rather than meet my eye, but at least she was not looking at the floor. "That's better," I told her.

"Thank you," she replied, in a voice scarcely above that of a whisper.

"I shall repeat my words, since you obviously have trouble understanding simple English, girl. I said that you know why you are here, didn't I, girl?"

Lauren's lips moved but no sound came out. Eventually she managed to nod, and I gave her one of  the mirthless smiles that I reserve for times like that with girls like her.

"Good, you are here to have your rump steak tenderised just as it should be for your disgraceful behaviour," I told her in my past paternal manner.

"Tell me what I have done, daddy," she whispered.

"What you have done! What you have done! You have the temerity to stand there and ask me that! How dare you, girl!" I was extemporising like mad to buy a few seconds so that I could think of some plausible reason to order her into the traditional posture to receive discipline. Ah, I thought as inspiration hit me, this is a good one: "Look at the shameful marks on your neck and face! Tattoos - the marks of a slut indeed!"

"Daddy," Lauren wailed, in a tone that proved to me that I had scored a hit.

"And do you think that it was right and proper to run off down here, spending all your money on a man who does not love you? And what about that poor child of yours? No, this is long overdue, my girl," I said as I unhooked my belt.

"Nooooo, please, nooooo, not that daddy," cried Lauren, but I was not to be dissuaded from my duty.

"Girl, I am going to tenderise that rump steak, you mark my words," I announced as I pulled the belt slowly from out of its trouser loops and then doubled it menacingly.

"Please daddy! Please, I'll be good in future daddy," Lauren whimpered.

"You most certainly will. And you will remember to be good every time you feel your backside for the next few days. Now get yourself onto the bed and take up your position," I ordered her.

I have to be honest and say that the last bit was pure guesswork, because I had no real idea if Lauren had been trained to take up a punishment posture, but it turned out to be inspired as she demonstrated that she had. Without a word she turned and walked to the king sized bed that took up about a quarter of the space in that hotel room. The pillows had been covered by the bedspread, so Lauren took two of them and placed them in the middle of the bed. Then she lifted her skirt to just above her knees and climbed on top of the bed to kneel just behind her pillow mound. Finally, and without saying a word or waiting for any further instructions from me, she lifted her skirt above her waist and then lay down on top of the pillows.

To say that I was stunned by the performance is putting it mildly. To give myself time to relax I walked over to the bed and tugged her white girly panties up so that the wrinkles were removed and they hugged Lauren's bottom firmly. I noticed that she certainly had an interesting collection of tattoos on both legs, so it was hardly surprising that the Mexicans found her foreign and strange. I stepped back to admire the sight of Lauren lying quite submissively with her face buried in hands that were clenched into fists.

Enough admiring the scenery, I decided. Then I stepped forward, placed my fingers into the waistband of Lauren's knickers, and then I peeled them slowly and gently down to just above her knees. Then I stepped back and took up the belt. I folded it in two and smacked it noisily against my left palm.

"Lauren, this is going to hurt and you are going to cry, but I do not expect you to move or try to cover your bottom, do you understand? Answer me, girl," I demanded quietly but firmly.

"Yes, I understand," she said, in a voice already growing liquid with tears that would soon be falling from her eyes.

With that I raised the belt above my head and brought it down with a resounding crack across Lauren's bare and defenceless buttocks.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part Five

As we left the restaurant, I began to ponder exactly what I was going to do with Lauren. I am not a cruel man and I would no more lift my hand to an undeserving female than I would smack the snout of of a disobedient dog, as we decent fellows just do not behave like that. I began to conclude that the best thing would be just to spend a pleasant afternoon slipping her a length of cock, send her on her way with a pat to the rear and then wander of to a cantina for a snifter or three.

"That belt of yours sure looks thick and hard," Lauren said, apropos nothing at all. Clearly she had read my mind and decided that  punishments came before pokes, or something.

"It has served its purpose for many a long year. Come to think of it, I have had it for about thirty years, so it has certainly done its job down the decades," I told her glibly.

"Have you used it on many girls?"

"I don't keep a record of the times that I have tenderised a rump with it. Let me think, yeah, I have used it a few times," I said, as I hailed a cab and ushered Lauren into it.

"What did you say? Tell me again what you said," Lauren asked, with a sudden urgency in her voice.

"Eh? Well, I said that I have used my belt to thrash a few backsides in its time," I told her as the taxi lurched through the traffic on its way the the hotel that I had chosen.

"No, that's not what you said. Give me the exact words, please."

"I said that I had tenderised a few rumps, or something," I replied.

"That's what my dad used to say to us. Sort of, anyways. He would say that he was gonna tenderise a rump steak as he was taking his belt off. He always used to say that, just before he told me to lie down on the bed. He would pull that big old belt out of its loops and tell me that he was gonna tenderise my rump steak for me," she said in a liquid voice far gone in reverie.

"What would your daddy say if he knew that you had got yourself all tattooed up and were down here in Mexico?" Trust me when I say that I can lay on the guilt with a trowel if the need arises.

"He would tell me how bad I was and how he was gonna tenderise my rump steak for me," Lauren said, quietly.

"That is exactly what I am going to do to you as well," I promised her as the taxi pulled into the hotel's forecourt.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part Four

"Your blog is great," Lauren told me as she enthusiastically cut into her steak, "but it's your videos that I really love, she enthused.

"Yeah? Which video do you like the most?

Lauren licked her lips before replying. "The one where you have the girl on the bed and are using your belt on her," she said in a voice that had suddenly grown very husky.

"I know the one you mean. It was  a tawse that I used on her backside," I said.

"A tawse? What's that?"

"A short piece of leather, about as wide as a man's belt, but much shorter. It's used to bring the disobedient to heel," I said, aware that a lump was developing in my trousers.

"My dad would have loved one of them. He used his big old belt, and made us lie down on the bed when he was gonna give us a licking with it," Lauren explained. So that was where her love of corporal punishment came from.

"Us?"

"Me, my mom and my two sisters. When he decided to lay it on, believe me none of us sat down for a while afterwards."

"How did he die?"

"Got himself falling down drunk one night and hit a tree in his pick-up. I was just 16 and I went to his funeral with a sore ass on account of him whupping me the night before he died," Lauren explained, with a catch in her voice.

"Was it a thick belt?"

"Just like yours, but much older. I don't know when he got it, but it was older than me. He once told me that whupping ass with it was the best way to keep it supple, she said, laughing.

"You said that you did one to ones, how did you get into that?"

"I was moving around and I met a guy who had a thick belt, and he introduced me to guys who would pay to punish a girl. I earned good bucks for doing what I enjoyed, and not many folks can say that," she concluded.

"What's the deal with the tattoos?"

"Got 'em on my travels," was all she said.

"They are probably why Benito's mother doesn't like you, along with your daughter, of course," I said.

"She hasn't said anything," Lauren answered, dubiously.

"She doesn't have to. It's the way they are. It's one thing having a discrete tattoo in the small of your back that nobody can see, but even having one on your wrist in this country marks you out as the local good time that has been had by all," I said, pointing to the artwork that Lauren had on her neck and left cheek to illustrate my point.

"What about my daughter?"

"Why should sonny-boy feed some other man's child? That's the way his mother thinks, I guarantee. And sonny-boy does as his mother tells him, they all do," I said.

Lauren nodded her head at my truisms. "Time to get the fuck out, I reckon," was all she said.

"Good idea," was my reply.

"Listen, I like you and all that, but I am going to hit that border with about twenty bucks to my name and I have to get clear across the country to my mom's place. Is there any chance of you giving me some help towards things?"

"I can tell that you were lying about the money, but not to worry, I'll pay the fare for your ride," I said.

"What makes you say I was lying to you?"

"Oh, I can tell when people lie. They move their lips when they speak," I said.

"OK," she said, unable to control her laughter. "Maybe I do have a few dollars extra, but I'm still not a rich girl."

"A ride for a ride strikes me as a very good deal indeed," I told her with a grin.

"Indeed it does," she said, simply.

To be continued.

New Book Finished

It is 11.55pm on Friday 25 May 2012 and I have just this minute finished the first draft of my second book, which will be called Good Times With Girls. You have no idea how pleasing the sensation is to have a complete manuscript on my computer's hard drive. The second draft should be ready in about a week, Raven willing as she is the unpaid editrix. Then it will go off for proofreading and I have a provisional publication date in mind of very late summer.

Wish me luck!

Lauren, Part Three

I was in no mood to check long distance coach fares and schedules that day, so we arranged to meet just after Christmas to go to the main coach terminal to sort everything out. There are several coach companies running to the border and it struck me as easier just to go along in person rather than try and do it on the telephone or web. Sure enough, I was able to ask questions, compare prices, and get a rather nice deal on a luxury coach that was leaving for Nuevo Laredo, right on the border, on New Year's Eve. That was probably why it was so cheap, but Lauren was not in the least bit concerned about spending the first few hours of 2012 on a coach as it blasted through the deserts of northern Mexico; all she wanted to do was get out of the country.

Lauren gave me an old fashioned look as I translated the price of the ticket, which came to about £75.00, and began to mutter that she did not know if she had such an exorbitant amount in her possession, what was she going to do, and would not kind gentleman help her out? You are familiar with the routine, I am sure, and all I did was stand back and enjoy the theatrical performance.

"I take it you're not going to help a poor little girl,"  she said, acidly.

"Not until she performs to my complete satisfaction," I replied, genially.

Lauren immediately discovered that she did have some extra money after all, and how could she be so silly as to forget it? I just grinned at her attempt to pull a fast one and to her eternal credit, Lauren had the decency to grim shamefacedly back at me.

"If you are going to try it on, at least be original," I told her as we left the coach station.

"It sometimes works," she answered with a shrug.

"Life can little else supply, but a few good fucks, and then we die," I told her.

"That sounds like a quote," she said.

"It's from John Wilkes, an eighteenth century English radical who understood many things. The quote is from his Essay on Women. I have it written on my business cards," I told her. 

"I do not fucking believe you! Prove that to me!" Lauren was whooping with delight, clearly thinking that she had caught a bullshitter in the act, so I pulled out my wallet and handed over one of my cards.

"Look on the back," I told her. She did, and sure enough her eyes widened as she read my little motto.

"Good God and sonny fucking Jesus, too! So what do folks say when you hand one of these out?"

"If I gave a fuck what people thought about me, I wouldn't have those cards," I told her.

"OK, I understand that," she replied, nodding her head. "Can we go for lunch? I promise not to spend too much of your hard earned money, but I honestly do not have much left now."

"Let's have a good lunch and we can discuss what we are going to do for the rest of the afternoon. There are some very comfortable hotels in this district which rent rooms by the three hour period, we can go to one of them after we have eaten," I told her.

"Can I have a nice big juicy steak for lunch?"

"Of course you can, my dear. And afterwards you can have an even nicer lump of meat in the hotel," I told her, making her giggle.

So off we went to eat.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part Two

Spotting Lauren in the restaurant a couple of hours later was not exactly difficult. Not only because she was white, but also because of the number of tattoos that she had. I counted two on her neck, plus several stars that had been engraved onto her left cheek. I noted that she was wearing a thin long sleeved sweater and a multi-coloured cotton skirt that brushed against her ankles, and I wondered how many other tramp stamps she was carrying?

I sat down and breakfast was ordered and duly arrived, and as we munched our way through the day's first meal, Lauren began to explain her problem. Now, I know that you do not really care about the discriptive stuff, so I shall give you the short version of what had happened in her life.

Lauren had been living with her four year old daughter and Benito, her Mexican boyfriend, in the USA. Benito had done something or other and various thuggish types were after him, so he had cajoled Lauren into emptying her savings account and taking off for Mexico City. The young daughter still thought that it was all a great adventure, but after three months Lauren's sense of humour had become a little strained, especially as Benito's family had put her to work driving the family-owned pesero along its allotted route. A pesero is a collective taxi which runs a set route and which picks people up and drops them off anywhere along it, but the drivers need to speak Spanish, and since Lauren did not have a word, she was packed off to drive with one of Benito's teenage brothers as a conductor.

"I want to go back to the USA, but I don't even know where the long distance buses run from, or how much it costs," she explained.

"Why don't you get Benito to take you to the station?"

"I keep asking him, but he always just says that we will go tomorrow, but that never happens either because he is busy or he is getting drunk with his brothers," she explained.

"Do they pay you for your driving?"

"No," she answered firmly.

"You need to start helping yourself to some of the takings when the brother is not looking," I told her.

"I'm way ahead of you on that one," she replied with the first smile of the day.

"So what do you want from me? You have money, so I don't see what the problem is," I said.

"I don't even know where the bus depot is, how to book my tickets - I don't even know where the buses run to in the USA," she explained.

"How did you get down here?

"We went to Laredo, in Texas, and then took a bus down here, but it was late at night when we arrived and I couldn't find my way back there if I tried," Lauren said.

"OK, lemme see. You want me to take you to the main terminal and get your tickets for you, and then put you and your daughter on a coach going to the border, is that the idea?"

"Yes please, she said, wriggling deliciously in her seat.

"I'll have to speak to Benito - I don't want any problems for my family when I am back in England, I told her.

I was expecting a protest, but all Lauren did was shrug and tell me to go ahead.

"Why did you choose me as your knight in shining armour?"

"I knew you were around from your blog, and I figured that you might want to help," was her cryptic answer.

"You like the blog?"

"Yep, and the videos that you have on it as well. I can see now that it's really you in them. You sure whup hard, don't you?"

"Does Benito smack you?

"Naah, just the odd kick or punch when he is drunk," was her contemptuous answer.

"Ever been spanked?"

"My dad did it when I was growing up. Did it until he died when I was twenty," she said, before carrying on, looking me directly in the eye: "I also did one to ones in Chicago when I needed the money," she said, firmly.

"Really? And do you need any money now?"

"I think that I may have enough to get us to the border, but not enough for the Chicago leg," was her considered reply.

"It sounds to me as if you need a daddy to take care of you, if your good," I said quietly.

"But I'm not good. I'm very, very naughty," came her response.

"Then I shall adopt you as my very own for the duration of your time in these United Mexican States," I told her. "When do you want to leave, by the way?"

"In about a week, tops," she replied.

"Wonderful," I said. "Any longer and we could get bored with each other, and we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"

"No daddy," we wouldn't.

To be continued.

Lauren, Part One

My telephone rang incessantly and was obviously not going to stop in a hurry, so I rolled over in bed and answered it. I was amazed that anyone had my new Mexican mobile number, since I had only bought the card the day before, just as I had arrived back in the country in mid-December 2011.

"Bueno," I muttered blearily into the receiver.

"Hello," answered a female voice that sounded American. "Are you Nick? I would like to speak to Nick, please," the voice went on, speaking in pitch perfect English.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied, as I started my body in motion towards the bathroom.

"My name's Lauren and I'm from Chicago. I read your blog and your Facebook page, so I know that you are in Mexico City right now," the girl said.

"How did you get my phone number? I only got the Sim card yesterday," I told her.

"I'm not speaking on the phone," Lauren said, sounding thoroughly puzzled by my question. "I'm on my laptop, speaking to you on Skype."

I looked at my phone. Skype was installed on it, but had I fired up the programme? Of course I had, last night, when I configured the handset to the house's WiFi connection. I had just not switched Skype off afterwards, which was how Lauren had managed to get in touch.

"OK, I have Skype on the mobile and I thought you were ringing that," I explained. "What can I do for you, Lauren?"

"Well, I am a real fan of your writing, and I just love your blog," she squealed in those delightful tones that young girls often have when they are excited about something. "Can we do breakfast today? Or maybe just a coffee, if you are not a breakfast person?

"Are you in Mexico City?"

"Sure am!"

"It's a big place and I don't fancy travelling today after yesterday's flight. Where are you located?

"About a mile from you - you said which borough you would be in on Facebook. Why don't we meet  at the Vips restaurant on the main avenue heading downtown?" So she did know the area and could name one of the more popular chain restaurants. Funnily enough, it was the one that I used to breakfast at regularly when I lived permanently in Mexico City, so I was happy to agree to meet this curious female there.

"Wait, before you go," I said. "You had better tell me what you look like."

"OK, I'm 25, with long black hair that hangs right down my back. I wear long skirts," Lauren said, before pausing for a moment. "I have tattoos, a couple on my neck and face," she concluded at length.

I could feel my ears and cock perking up at this news. Lauren was 25, and read my writings. Did she have unresolved daddy issues that a 55 year old Uncle Nick would be perfectly placed to deal with? We would find out the answer to that over breakfast!

To be continued.

The 50 Shades of Grey Review

Raven started singing the praises of Fifty Shades of Grey almost two years ago before its phenomenal sales  hit the stratosphere. She said that the first book was amazing, but that books two and three were a disappointment. I have just managed to get through Fifty Shades of Grey and have no intention of even opening the next two volumes of the trilogy.

Don't get me wrong, I am glad that these books have been written as their success should have a knock on effect for the rest of us who write BDSM/CP works. Given the amazing success that C.L. James has had with her books compared to my fairly humble sales up to now, this review could come over as sour grapes, but that is not its aim. Anything that increases our profile is good for all of us, but I just wish that James had written something that was less like a Mills and Boon novel with some spanking thrown in.

That Fifty Shades of Grey owes more to romantic fiction than it ever will to la cosa nostra will be obvious to even the casual reader. Anastasia is our heroine, a 21 year old virgin who meets Christian, the 28 year old mega rich owner of a company based in Seattle. This is where the first doubt kicks in because the hero is just too young to play the role of a dominant, controlling man. He should have been made at least a decade older to be credible, but as a hero in romantic fiction where the age gap between the two main characters is usually about five years then he is perfect. 

This creates the second problem with Fifty Shades of Grey in that this reader was unclear if the book is primarily a BDSM work with the romantic stuff tossed in to appeal to a wider readership, or if it was intended as romantic fiction all along? It looks as if the latter is the case, and if that is so then it opens up a whole new window on Fifty Shades which emerges as little more than a book for the Mills and Boon ladies. Before anybody criticises that approach then it should be remembered that many a Mills and Boon novel contains a spanking scene where the wilful heroine is put over the hero's knee, so why not look at Fifty Shades in the same light?

Thirdly, Christian is obviously damaged goods who needs the love of a good woman to restore him to an emotional even keel. It is obvious that parts two and three of this trilogy will go into vanilla waters as the girl rescues her man, and that is not something that sends out a good image about either us or the world that we live in. The fact that men like me enjoy taking a naughty girl in hand does not mean that the girls we meet do not want to be so taken. We are people who seek each other out and do not seek to become sad vanilla losers. That is why we call them vanillas, because they are bland and boring to anyone who prefers the spicier flavours.

Finally, the prose drags on and on with seemingly no end in site as the girl spends long periods of time anguishing over whether he loves her or not. Please, the reader just wants to reach out and grab her by the neck. The guy is spending time and money on her, what more proof does the silly bitch want?

This is where Fifty Shades loses all touch with the BDSM world. The aim with out works is to create a volume where each chapter flows into the next, so that there is a complete wholeness to the book, but where each chapter can be read individually as a complete unit in itself. The rule is that providing the punter has read the introduction, then he can slip into any chapter and will know immediately what is going on. He can read the chapter, stroke one off, and get on with doing something more important with his life. That is not the case with Fifty Shades where we have to dig through acres of prose to get to the interesting bits. I must be honest and say that I began to skim read after a while and I suspect that I am not the only one.

So, Fifty Shades is a good conversation opener about our world, but it is not a good reflection of it. The prose is turgid in parts and mounds of it have to be covered to find the odd BDSM nugget. That said, you should buy it to have on your bookshelf as it will get the conversation going, especially if you have A Spanking Good Life on the shelf as well!

50 Shades of Controversy

I was planning to write a review of Fifty Shades of Grey, but that is going to have to wait a few days as I was distracted by the very entertaining controversy that is swirling around the story of its creation. Put simply, some very sad people are terribly upset because they feel hard done to by Erika Leonard, the authoress of the trilogy, who writes as SnowQueens-IceDragon and E.L. James.

Those sad people are based around the world of fan fiction, a genre that I did not even know existed until I began to look into the origins of 50 Shades. In a nutshell Erika Leonard wrote the whole 50 Shades trilogy in chapters which was then uploaded as a work called Master of the Universe to a fan fiction site, that was dedicated to the Twilight novels. The Twilight fans - and there are thousands of these people - then helped her edit each chapter until it became a far more readable commodity. For instance, the authoress is British and needed help to turn her English terminology into the curious colonial dialect spoken in the United States. The readership did that for her and generally acted as editors should with the evolving manuscript, the difference being that in this case they did it for free. That is the root of the controversy because these fans claim that they only dedicated long hours to the work because they thought that Erika Leonard, or SnowQueens-IceDragon which was the nickname she used, was as much a fan of Twilight as they were, and it is obvious that she is nothing of the kind.

What is fan fiction? As the name suggests it is the fiction written by fans of a particular book or series, using the same names as the original characters, but either putting  them in different scenarios or creating a whole new reality for them. Erika Leonard took the second path which is why her work is a homage to Twilight, and cannot be seen as plagiarism of it. She kept the names from Twilight, but her Edward is a fabulous wealthy businessman and not a vampire, and the BDSM element which is central to 50 Shades is missing from Twilight. Nevertheless, she kept enough of the Twilight personalities in her fiction to please the fans and they raved over her work as it was uploaded chapter by chapter.

What this authoress had done was upload a completely new novel to an existing consumer base. To attract attention from that base she used the names from the main characters in Twilight and some of their personality traits. What she got was a fan base of her own and Master of the Universe began to attract attention from some of the publishing houses who keep an eye on these fan fiction sites. One such outfit is The Writers' Coffee Shop who eventually bought out the work as the 50 Shades trilogy. Obviously the names had to be changed, but aside from that the two works are almost identical.

That was when Erika's chums became her enemies as they started to scream that she was betraying the fan fiction ethos, that she had used them shamelessly, and so on and so forth. To be candid it looks to me as if Erika did play these people as suckers, but as W.C. Fields used to say, we never give a sucker an even break, so they deserved all they got in my view. If they were stupid enough to work hard for nothing more than a pat on the head then that serves them right.

As 50 Shades till sits on top of the best seller lists the rest is history. If you want to read the pathetic whining of some of Erika's former friends, then you might want to start with this site, if you can stomach it, as the writer behind it is one of the major whiners in all of this. One writer who has criticised Erika without whining is Jami Gold and you can read her piece at this link.

There the matter rests. Obviously Erika Leonard has not crossed any legal lines as no writs have been issued, so the claim is that she engaged in ethical misbehaviour. I do not accept that, but I would be interested in hearing your views.

Katie, Part Eight

I took Katie back to her car eventually. The journey was quiet, as in spite of my attempts to keep a conversation going, Katie preferred silence. I was pleased to see that she sat gingerly in her seat and I can remember smiling at that before I switched on the radio to give me some company as I drove the car through the Pennine Hills towards where Katie's vehicle was waiting. Eventually I manoeuvred my car into the area where Katie's estate car was still waiting for her and then I walked her slowly to it.

"I hope you can sit down comfortably during your journey," I told her genially, before leaning forward to give her a peck on the cheek.

"I'm sure I'll manage," she said, getting into the car and sitting down very gingerly indeed on the seat.

"Shall I call you?"

"No, my husband might be there. Let me call you," she replied.

"You need to get another mobile, a pay as you go type," I told her.

"Sounds like a great idea," she said, switching on her engine.

"I look forward to your call," I said, knowing damn well that she would not get in touch. Not that I was all that bothered, as I had seen  what looked like a rather decent restaurant as we had headed into the little town, and I had already decided that having had my balls emptied it was time to fill my belly. As Katie drove off I gave her a cherry wave and sauntered off to eat, think that was that in the Katie department.

Women often have the capacity to surprise men and Katie was no exception because she called a a couple of weeks later. At first the conversation was stilted, as if Katie was trying to limber up to say something that was important to her.

"I want to say something," she said at length.

"Sure," I replied.

"Why did you make me do that to you?"

"I didn't make you do anything, Katie, so don't play the victim with me. It won't work," I told her, firmly.

"Yes, but I don't want you that way. I wanted you as my father figure," she said.

"Katie, listen to me. We had this conversation before we even met. You are bored because of your home life and you take lovers. You feel guilty about this so you latched on to me as your father confessor who would punish you  and cleanse you of your sins. But, Katie, did you ever for one moment stop and think that I might want something else?

"No," she had the good grace to concede.

"You wrote a script, didn't you? And what you needed was an actor to play the role that you created. But that's not me, Katie, because I'm a man, not a character in your play.

"I don't want you as a lover," she said, which left me feeling wonderful, I can tell you.

"Not to worry, one swallow does not make a lover," I told her between clenched teeth.

"Do you have to make a joke about everything?"

"Being treated as a stooge leaves me with the option of laughter or tears and I prefer the former."

With that the conversation ended and I never spoke to Katie again.

What can I say? Katie could suck a mean cock, and she had not cost me anything other than some time and petrol, but the whole incident left a nasty taste in my mouth.

Katie, Part Seven

Katie's sobs went on for quite a while, which was understandable given the blistering that I had given to her backside. Eventually, though, the near hysterical howling began to slow to a blubber and then we reached the level of whimpering before Katie sat up, still clutching her well punished rear end. She refused to meet my eye, and kept her head down as she first rubbed and then stroked her bottom to dampen the fires that I had lit in it.

I noticed that she was about to lift her panties up to cover the punishment zone. "Don't do that until I tell you to," I told her.

Katie opened her mouth to protest, but then thought better of it, and resumed her position with her legs drawn under her and her hands holding her buttocks. "I want to pull my knickers up," she said at length.

"Leave them where they are until I give you permission. You've been a naughty girl, and this is part of your punishment," I said.

"But I'm a good girl, now. I'm not naughty any more," Katie answered in that lovely, quiet, submissive voice of hers.

"Good girls do as they are told," I remarked. Then on impulse I began to stroke the noticeable bulge in my trousers. "Look what you have done to me," I told her.

"I didn't do that! I didn't do anything - I was being spanked!" 

"You moved against me, you wriggled against my cock. You must have felt it against your tummy," I said.

"Yes, but I was only wriggled to try and get away and none of that is my fault," she said, pointing to the lump between my legs.

I have to be honest and say that I had to laugh at Katie's blame shifting exercise, but that  did not stop me from unzipping my trousers to allow the throbbing meat that lay inside to break free. Joyfully, my cock jumped out, the head glistening with the pre-come juices. By God the girl had certainly had an effect on me!

"I don't want to do this," Katie said, her voice dropping down to whisper level again.

I said nothing. What was there to say? I was not going to force her to do anything, obviously, so I just sat there quietly, waiting for Katie to resolve her inner demons and hoping that it would not take all that long. Believe me when I say that my cock needed attention.

"This isn't fair. You're making me do things that I don't want to do," she pleaded.

Of course, I was not making her do anything, and all I did was sit there, staring intently into Katie's eyes, gently stroking my own cock to keep it hard and ready for when Katie's internal battle came to an end.

"I wanted you to be my uncle, when I was naughty, and I should not have to do things like this with my uncle," she whimpered.

Again I said nothing, I just rubbed my cock slowly, just to remind Katie of what was expected off her.

"I suppose I'd better do it, hadn't I? I mean, I have no choice - you're going to make me, I can tell."

I was not going to do anything of the sort, but if that was the excuse that Katie needed to run through her mind then that was fine by me. Just so long as she took my rock hard cock into her mouth and sucked it nicely.

Which is what she did. Katie moved over and sat, still with her legs tucked under her, between my thighs. She took my cock in her hand and rubbed it gently several times until I groaned with the pleasure of her touch. Then she leaned forward and opened her mouth to take in my cock. I groaned even louder as I felt her teeth brush against the head, and then Katie's head began to bob up and down as she took me down the road to glory.

I leaned my head back against the back of the sofa and gently stroked Katie's hair as she took my cock deeper and deeper. Then she began to run her tongue along the canal that runs on the outside edge of a man's weapon, from the balls right  up to just below the head, before taking the cock in her mouth again.

It was almost impossible to hold the juices back and I can remember clenching all my muscles to try and stop the deluge. I begged Katie to hold off for a moment because otherwise I was going to shoot, but all she did was reach down with one hand and take hold of my balls to manipulate them, stroke, then, milk the juice out of them, and there was nothing that I could do to stop it.

I felt the gates inside my balls open and the hot stream began to charge up through the canal into Katie's waiting mouth. "Swallow every drop," I instructed her, as the wad flooded up and out into her willing mouth.

And to her eternal credit, that is exactly what she did!

To be continued.

Katie, Part Six

 "Please," Katie whimpered yet again, this time as she felt the fresh air on her nether regions. I do wish that women could be original with their pleadings when about to undergo correction, but I fear that this is a forlorn hope. In that Katie was typical of the female of the species with her clichéd opening whimper as she felt her knickers slither down over her hips. Come to think of it, her second plea of "I don't want to be spanked" was no better, either.

 "I know that you don't," I explained, patting her bottom in my best, avuncular, Uncle Nick manner. "Do you think that I care, though?" I can do the kindly old uncle routine for a while, but then the real me just bursts out again.

"This isn't fair," was the next cliché to spring from Katie's lips, as she wriggled her hips in nervous anticipation of the discipline that was to come.

 "Life's not fair," was all I said. I can do clichés too, but I can also do spankings for a naughty girl who fails to toe the line and that is what I then began to do as my hard palm cracked down across Katie's bare and helpless bottom.

 She let out a little cry as the first smack landed with crack that reverberated around the walls of that small room and which I was sure could be heard in the street. Well, it was mid-afternoon so most people would be at work, but if they were around then I hoped that they enjoyed the show as my hand administered a succession of hard smacks to that upturned rump.

 Katie gasped as the spanking progressed and began to wriggle her hips in a way that was unconsciously sensuous. I do not think that she was trying to harden my middle leg, but that was the effect she had on it as her flat stomach ground into my groin. I must admit that all this had its effect in my concentration, and it is quite possible that a lesser man might have found it all too much of a distraction, but I pride myself on being a white man both inside and out, so I continued to modify Katie's behaviour in the old fashioned way. 

That said, my palm was beginning to sting, so I decided that a lecture was in order: "Right," I said, flexing my hand to take the sting out of it. "Are you learning your lesson?" 

Silence greeted my quite reasonable question, and looking down at her I saw the reason why. Katie had turned her face to her left so her expression was quite visible to me. Looking at it I saw an expression of total defiance with lips pursed in their insolence. Katie's eyes flashed and sparkled with a lot that said that she did not care what I did because she was not going to give me the pleasure of hearing her beg me to stop. I could not believe that any woman would be willing to bet her soft female bottom against any hard male palm, especially mine, but that was Katie's intention. With a sigh I lifted my hand and brought it down with a solid. punitive smack across the already reddened area that was undergoing correction. An area of Katie's person that would soon be a damned sight redder if I had anything to do with it, I resolved, silently. 

With that I administered a dozen of so hearty smacks,each one with the full power of my arm behind it and each one darkening the bright red of Katie's bottom until it became a dark, angry, blazing fire hue. Katie sucked in her breath as each smack cracked across her bare bottom, but other than that she made no sound. That is not to say that she accepted her punishment, far from it, as she began to gyrate her hips from side to side and then she would pump them up and own against my already hard cock until it felt as if it would burst out of my trousers. 

So that was her intention, was it? To so distract me from my duty that I would leave her only semi-corrected and able to gloat to all her girlfriends about how she had made me let her go. Sorry, Katie, but there are two kinds of people in this world: those who fuck and those who get fucked and I do the fucking as far as the male-female relationship is concerned and with that thought in mind I lifted my hand again and brought it down in a whip-like motion across the bottom that lay beneath it. 

 To say that I gave Katie the spanking of her young life is putting it mildly. My hand rose and fell with a regularity that was becoming monotonous, with the only sound in the room the crack of the palm as it smacked across that ripe young flesh. I began to think that it would never end, that we would stay that way forever, when without warning I heard a short cry from Katie's lips. She stifled it quickly and looking into her face I saw the old defiance, but also something else. She had begun to bite her lips and her eyes were moistening with the flood of tears that she so desperately tried to hold back. With a grin I redoubled my efforts as I could sense that the breaking point was near.

"Have you learned your lesson?" This time I did not pause and wait for an answer, and as soon as the last syllable had left my lips my hand began to hammer down on that already incredibly ravaged bottom. There was no answer? Fine - I would spank the answer out of her!

"Yes," I heard her say, in a voice that was the lowest of the low. Should I let her go at that? My arm was aching and my palm was throbbing, but I decided that one word did not an act of contrition make, so I lifted my arm again and prepared to bring that hand down in yet another arc onto the bottom that was now the colour of smouldering coals.

"Please, I can't take any more, Please let me go," she pleaded. Then, for the first time since she had taken up her position across my knee, Katie lifted her right hand and put it behind her to shield her bottom from my hand. All I did was take the hand and fold it into the small of her back before landing another blistering smack to Katie's rear. Sorry, sweetie, but I decide when the punishments are over.

This one was, as Katie collapsed across my knee in a flood of tears. All the insolence and defiance had been smacked out of her and all that was left was a perfectly submissive, obedient little girl who had no more sauce in her for a fight. With a sigh of relief at a close won victory I let her fall to the floor where she lay clutching her bottom and sobbing the bitter tears of repentance.

To be continued.

Katie, Part Five

Katie came and stood by me, and I noted with pleasure that she was back to biting her lower lip again. I gestured again with my finger that she should take up the traditional position for correction, but she only shook her head.

"You know what's going to happen," was all I said.

"Please, I can't just do it," Katie said, gesturing at my open lap. "Can't you? Would you?" Her voice tailed off and she stood with her head down and her hands in front of her.

"You mean, would I put you in position and hold you there to be spanked?

"Yes," she said, quietly, but firmly.

"No," I told her.

"I thought you were going to spank me - have you changed your mind?"

"I am going to spank you, but I am not going to put you into position. You can do that yourself," I explained.

"Why do I have to do that?"

"Because you are a bad girl and you know that you deserve this, don't you, Katie?" There was no reply to my question so I asked it again, more forcefully this time: "Don't you, Katie?"

"Yes," was all she managed to say.

"You are a slut, and you know that you have to be punished," I went on, inexorably.

"Yes."

"So putting yourself across my knee is a sign that you accept that  this spanking is well deserved," I told her. Then I pointed again to my right knee. "Get over here," I ordered.

Katie did as she was told, quietly and without any more fuss, she lowered herself across my thighs. As she took up her position, resting the weight of her upper body on her arms that touched the floor, I paused a moment to admire the scene.

She still had on the sweatshirt, so I pushed it nearly up to her breasts to ensure that it was clear of the target zone. Katie's jeans were around her knees where I had pulled them and could stay there quite happily since they were not going to get in my way. That left her bottom, still covered by the delightfully pretty satiny navy blue panties with the polka dots. I tugged the garment until it enclosed her bottom properly without any wrinkles just to enjoy the aesthetics of the image, and then I ran my hand across the expanse of the round, firm buttocks that were soon to feel the weight of my hand across them and was rewarded by the sight of Katie as she clenched her buttock cheeks firmly.

"Please, please get on with it," she begged in that quite little voice of hers.

"Everything in its own good time," I told her, as I continued to stroke the covered rump.

"Please," she said, with real desperation in her voice.

"You know that these panties have to come down, don't you?" My tone was conversational, but I was genuinely interested to hear Katie's reply. Not that it mattered if she objected as the knickers were coming down whether she liked the idea or not, but still I was curious.

"Yes, I suppose so," she wailed.

"Good," was all I said, as without further ado I peeled the panties down to leave them hanging just above her knees, and her bottom shamefully bared for the correction that was now just seconds away.

To be continued

Katie, Part Four

Once inside the flat Katie went and sat down in an easy chair, leaving me to lounge casually in the middle of the sofa that took up most of one wall in that tiny room. She began to fidget and pick at the denim of her jeans, before looking up and starting to chatter with a brightness that bordered on the deranged. I cannot remember what she said, but I knew that she was only speaking to try and divert attention from what was about to happen to her.

"Shut up, Katie," I said at length. "We have something to do."

"What's that?" She spoke in that quiet little voice she had, which I must admit I was beginning to find appealing.

"I think you know. Come and stand in front of me." Katie did as she was told, moving lithely to her feet, and then taking the two steps needed to position herself exactly in front of me. As she did so I leaned forward and unbuttoned her jeans and then quickly pulled down the zip. That done I sat back and contemplated her for a moment, looking into her eyes until she cast them down and began to hold her jeans together, but not seeking to close the zip.

"Who said you could unzip me?"

"Nobody, I did it because it has to be done, so you can have your bottom smacked."

"You don't have to unzip me to do that. You can smack me through my clothes. I'll feel it through my clothes," she said plaintively.

"Of course you will, but that's not the point, is it? The idea is to teach you a lesson, and the pain in your bottom will be forgotten about tomorrow, but the humiliation of knowing that your bare bottom was on display will last a lot longer," I told her, as Katie began to bite her lip with delightful nervousness.

She chose not to say anything, contenting herself by moving around from one foot to the other, and looking above my head and some point on the wall that she obviously found interesting. I decided to put a stop to the attempt to pretend that she was elsewhere: "Look at me when I am talking to you, Katie," I told her coldly.

She tried to do as I had instructed, but she could not meet my eyes. To encourage her along I  grabbed hold of her jeans on either side of her body and peeled them unceremoniously down to her knees.

"Please," she whimpered, looking at me as she had previously been instructed. I must say that I always find it quite agreeable when a little girl comes to heel like that.

"Please what? You know what's going to happen, don't you?"

"No," she whimpered in that tiny voice of hers.

"You are going to have your bottom smacked," I told her. "Now you know, don't you, girl?"

"Yes." Katie's voice was now scarcely above a whisper.

"And you know why you are going to have it smacked, don't you?"

"No, I don't. I don't know anything. You'll do it because I can't stop you. I'm only little," she whimpered, rather sweetly, I thought.

"I'm going to smack you because you are a naughty little slut who opens her legs for other men. You know that it's wrong, so why do you do it?"

"I don't," she wailed, denying the reality of why she was with me.

I decided to put a stop to that nonsense there and then. Without saying a word I flipped up Katie's sweatshirt to expose the navy blue panties with a myriad of white polka dots on them that she was wearing. I slipped the fingers of my right hand into the waistband and then let them wander down, past the silky smoothness of her pussy fur, until my middle finger reached the entrance to heaven and then I slipped it into Katie's body.

"No," she said, twisting her body, but making sure that she did not twist it so far that my finger slipped out of he.

I stood up and spun her to one side. Then I smacked the top of her legs three or four times to each one. As her hands flew behind her it was the work of a moment to switch the target to her bottom, still covered by the thin layer of shiny satin fabric which gave it no protection at all from my solid palm. As Katie switched her hands to cover her bottom, I just went back and smacked the already glowing thighs. After a few more smacks I felt that the lesson had been learned and I turned her to face me again.

"As I said, a naughty little slut who opens her legs for all and sundry," I said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Then I slipped my fingers back inside Katie's panties and my eager middle finger quickly found its way back into her body. This time she did not struggle, contenting herself by throwing her head back and whimpering.

As my finger moved around Katie's body quickly lubricated itself to allow further entry and with a smile I increased the speed of the finger fucking that I was giving her. As I did so Katie began to gasp and squeal as I took control of her body and made it perform to my satisfaction.

"Is this how nice girls behave?" The question was rhetorical, but I saw Katie shaking her head, so I decided that a follow up was in order: "You're a slut, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. I'm a slut and that is why I am with you," she said, her voice taking on a new urgency as my finger continued to work its magic inside her warm, wet pussy.

I pushed my finger into her body and then curving the digit upwards and towards me as I drew it out of her. Then I repeated the process, faster and faster, until Katie began to scream in wanton abandon. All the while I told her exactly what she wanted, needed, to hear: "You're a whore, Katie. A dirty little slut who goes with anyone. Maybe I should pay you for this afternoon's work? Is that what you want, whore?"

That did it - with a cry of pure animal delight, Katie grabbed my hair and began to grind herself against my hand. Her moans became louder and then they switched into a long scream of delight as her moment of truth arrived.

I continued to finger Katie through her shuddering climax and for a moment or two afterwards. As her body slowly came back under her control I took my finger away and let her collapse onto the floor. Seeing that she was looking up at me I deliberately licked the pussy juices of my fingers before grinning wolfishly at her.

Katie tried and failed to stifle a giggle, and I left her to rest for a moment longer before I indicated to her with my index finger that she should rise. As she got to her feet I used the same finger to point to my knee in an unmistakable sign that she should take up the traditional posture across it.

To be continued.

50 Shades of Casting

It had to happen sooner rather than later - the rumours about the cast for the film version of  Fifty Shades of Grey have started to swirl around the web. I have to be honest and say that I have never heard of any of the actors and actresses mentioned in this report, and the two girls giving really do need to have their knickers taken down just for being irritating. That said, what do you think about this? My beef is that I still think that 27 is too young for Christian and that the authoress should have made him a decade older. I hope that the film corrects that mistake.

I wonder when Hollywood will take an interest in A Spanking Good Life, or its sequel which is due out later on this year? I reckon that Burt Reynolds would be great in my role, or maybe Bruce Willis could give it a go playing my strong, silent self? Just so long as it is not Woody Allen...

Katie, Part Three

I must be honest and say that I never expected Katie to show up, but she was waiting for me in the car park when I arrived. I recognised her at once, a medium height, size 12 brunette, with a sensible Mumsnet haircut that left the hair just brushing her earlobes. She was wearing a pair of nice of blue jeans, a comfortable pair of slip-on shoes and a light grey sweatshirt. She gave the appearance of being a county mummy in the market town to spend the afternoon with her chums drinking tea and eating cakes. That was until the observer looked at her face and saw the look of preoccupation on it as she bit down on her lower lip, and the way in which she kept looking at her watch, as she nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. I paused for a moment to enjoy the show, and Katie looked up and saw me grinning at her. She recognised me at once, and she stamped her foot in mock anger as I walked over to her.

"I don't like it when fellas are monging me," she said, after we had done the kissy-kissy, nice to meet you routine.

"I've never heard that one before," I told her with a laugh.

"That's 'cos you are old enough to be my dad," she said, sticking her tongue out to emphasise her point.

"I'm going to do to you what your father should have done," I told her.

She nodded at that and we walked to the car. When we reached it I opened the door for her, but was surprised to see that she was stood behind the vehicle sending a text message. I walked back and saw that Katie was sending my car's registration number to somebody. I nodded in approval and gave her my business card: "Give 'em the address as well, if you want," I said.

"I always tell my friend where I am going when I meet someone," she said by way of explanation. "But nobody has ever been as open as you," she went on. "Aren't you concerned about people knowing about you?"

I shrugged my shoulders and opened the car for her: "I don't much care what people think," was all I said.

Driving the thirty minutes or so to my place,  Katie began to talk twenty to the dozen, confirming just about everything that I already knew about her. To give you the short version, she was the respectable wife and mother with a husband who was working all the hours that God sent to keep his head above water in the recession that was just then starting to bite. Part of her knew that the old man was fighting to keep his job so that his family could continue to live well, but she still felt lost and alone, hence the other men. The nice thing from my point of view was the obvious sense of guilt that she felt, guilt which had led her to seek me out.

"I can't believe that I'm letting you do this to me," she said at length.

"You are not letting me do anything; I'm going to blister your rear end whether you like it or not," I told her.

"I could scream and fight you off," she said.

"You don't have to. I'll stop the car and you can get out," I said, pulling the vehicle over into a lay-by.

Katie made no move to leave the car, so with a quiet chuckle I continued to drive us to my place. The notion that Katie was going to escape without a spanking was no longer on the agenda.

To be continued.

Katie, Part Two

"I'm sorry," she said. "I honestly didn't mean to insult you."

"What can I do for you, Katie?"

"Do you forgive me?"

"Don't answer questions with questions," I told her. "Now what do you want?"

"I want to see if you will accept my apology and if we can still meet," she said, again dropping her voice so low that I could scarcely make out the words.

"What an interesting idea," I told her.

"Do you really think so?"

"No, you retarded bitch, I was being sarcastic. Look, stop me if I get this wrong, but you feel guilty about opening your legs for other men. You could stop doing it, but you prefer to write me into the script as the loving but strict uncle who smacks your behind and washes away all your guilt. How am I doing so far?"

"I'm sorry," Katie wailed, which just served to annoy me more than I was already.

"If you can't think of anything intelligent to say, then just shut your fat stupid mouth," I told her. "The upshot of all this would be that all the other men get a nice shine put on their knobs, and I go off and have a wank. If that is your plan then you must think that you are dealing with the town mong," I concluded.

"I never thought that," she said. "I just thought that, well, you know, that we could..."

"That we could meet up and I would be so taken with the idea of being your uncle that I would forget all about the hard-on that you will have given me," I said, finishing Katie's sentence in my own way.

"I don't know you," she said.  "Maybe the first time we could, that is to say I could, do something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like use my hand, she said, softly.

"I thought about the idea for a minute and then decided to up the ante: "Make it your mouth and we have a deal," I told her.

"Yes," she said. Yes, I can do that. I don't want to, but I can. I don't think that I will enjoy it, though," she ended, with a touch of defiance, I thought.

"Do you think I care about what a whore thinks?" I must be honest and say that it was the first thing that came into my mind to hit back for her crack at me, but it obviously scored a hit because I heard Katie give out a muffled whimper, as if she had jammed her fist into her mouth to stifle the noise.

"Please," she said.

"Please what? Please for a whore who is going to get her bare bottom smacked until it is the colour of a ripe tomato? A whore who will sleep on her tum that night? A whore who will suck my cock like a good whore should and swallow every drop when I shoot into her mouth?"

"Yes," was all she could say.

"Do you enjoy being told what you are, you cheap little minger?"

"No, please don't talk to me like that," she cried, but we both knew that she was lying.

"Maybe I should pay you for this - you being a whore and all that. Shall I pay you, I wonder?"

"Please be nice to me."

"That isn't what you need, is it?"

"No," was all she could bring herself to say.

We arranged to meet the following afternoon. Katie asked me if I wanted to take her to the hotel where she was normally fucked, but I reminded her that a spanking is a noisy business and a hotel room was not the best of places for such activities. Give her credit, but she managed to laugh at that one, and we arranged to meet roughly halfway between Leeds and Manchester. She knew a small town where she could park her car and then we would go in mine to the small flat that I was renting just outside Manchester.

To be continued

Katie, Part One

I would not say that I met Katie, rather that she met me. Which is to say that she found me on the internet and then went to the trouble of  writing to me and things went on from there.

In early spring 2010 I set up my own blog. I could not walk very well at the time and I was living with friends in various parts of the country so it gave me something to do which I hoped would also bring in some money. The idea was to use the blog to funnel punters to a friend's porno site in return for  a cut of the action. Sadly that never worked out, but I kept the blog going out of interest. Then, when I decided to write A Spanking Good Life in the middle of 2010, I used the blog to post individual chapters as they were written, so that I could get some feedback as the work progressed.

By the late summer of that year I had got to know quite a few readers through e-mail and telephone calls, but Katie was the one who springs to mind as she came within the category of a good time girl. Well, the modern English version that is, which is to say that she was not after money, what she wanted instead was emotional support. I suppose in a way she was a slightly less manipulative version of April whom I introduced you to earlier.

It started quite innocuously with Katie writing to me with a comment about the blog. I replied, and told her that she was more than welcome to leave a comment on the site, and she wrote back to say that she was preferred to chat in private. That was how we did it for a few days and then on a whim I sent her my telephone number and was surprised when an hour or so later she called me.

Katie came over on the 'phone as a nervous late twenties girl, and I knew from her e-mails that she was just twenty-eight. She was articulate when she overcame her shyness and spoke with the flat vowels of her Leeds home. I knew already that she was married and the mother of two children. I knew also that her husband had a decent job and that the family lived a comfortable, but not over ostentatious, life, in one of the leafier suburbs of Leeds. What I did not know was why she had suddenly decided to latch onto me, and it took several calls before Katie decided to tell me exactly what lay behind her interest in me.

"I saw your videos," she said, in a very little voice. "The Spanish ones that you have on your blog. Is that really you with those girls?"

"They are Mexican, it's just the language that is Spanish," I told her.

"OK," she replied, before coming to what she really wanted to talk about: "You have a hard hand, don't you? Do you still punish girls with it over here?"

So that was what this was all about. Time to get into Uncle Nick mode, I decided. "I do if they are naughty girls who deserve a spanking," I told her. "Are you a naughty girl?"

"I think so, sometimes, yes," Katie replied in the smallest of voices, and after a pause that seemed interminable.

"Tell me about your naughtiness," I suggested, but silence was all I heard through the receiver. Time to play guessing games, I decided. "Does your husband know about your bad behaviour?

"God no! It would kill him! He is a good man and does not deserve what I do to him," she blurted out.

"What do you do to him?" There was no answer to that question, so I tried a different tack: "You go with other men, don't you?" Still the only answer I got was silence, so I decided to push her a little to see what happened: "How many, Katie? One, two, three a month - are you one of those community bikes that everyone rides?"

"No, it's not like that! I try to be good, but I feel so alone at times. I mean, David, that's my husband's name, he is away such a lot, with work, and it's just me and the kids and it feels like... Feels like," her voice trailed off into nothingness.

"It feels like you are alone and that nobody loves you," I said, finishing the sentence for her.

"Yes," came the reply in a voice so low that I had to concentrate to catch the word.

"And you think that being bored justifies behaving like a whore," I said, simply. I was laying the guilt on with a trowel, but it was what she was feeling already; all I did was articulate her own emotions in my own words.

"No, it's not like that. I hate being like this!"

"Then why do it?"

"Because... Because..."she said, her voice trailing off to nothingness.

"Because you are bad, aren't you?"

"Yes," replied the quiet little voice.

"And what happens to bad girls?

"They get punished."

"Indeed they do, Katie. Indeed they do. Across their Uncle Nick's knee, with their skirts up and their knickers down, learning how to be good," I told her, remorselessly.

"Yes," was all she managed to say.

"How many men have had you this year, apart from your husband, of course?"

"Two," she said.

"Three," I replied.

"No, I said two," Katie explained. "You asked me not to include David, so I didn't"

"The count is three, including me," I told her.

"I don't understand."

"Well, you don't think that you are leaving me unfucked, do you? You will get your backside paddled and you will be put firmly in your place, and part of that involves taking my cock!"

"I couldn't do that. I would be seeing you as my uncle," Katie said, a touch plaintively I thought. "It would weird me out to go to bed with my uncle!"

For a moment I was puzzled by her expression which I had not heard before. Then the penny dropped, and I began to feel my irritation rise. "Don't worry," I told her. "There is nothing wrong with my cock."

"I understand that, but I can't do it with you. It wouldn't be right," she said.

"Fine," I said, by then thoroughly angry. "If my cock isn't good enough for you then you can find someone else for all the rest as well." I could hear Katie try to protest, but I cut her off before she had managed to mouth the first syllable: "The rule with me is very simple: you fuck or you fuck off. You don't want to fuck - that's fine, now you can fuck off," I told her, just before I hung up the 'phone.

You may think that I was being over hard with Katie, but I had experienced nonsense like this earlier in the year and it had left a bad taste in my mouth, as well as wasting several days of my life, so I was determined that it was not going to happen twice in one year. I did tell this story to a fellow, once, and he asked if it would have not been better to go along with her silly ideas and then manipulate her into receiving cock in some way? I replied that I do not do things like that. A little darling does as I say because she either wants to go with me or because she has no other option. Of the two I often prefer the latter, because I enjoy the look of impotent fury on a minger's face as I poke her, but that is just me.

Anyway, I took myself off to the pub, and by the end of the evening I had almost forgotten Katie's existence, because as I made my way unsteadily home my telephone rang and there was Katie all bright eyed and with a plan in her mind.

To be continued.

The Sergeant Cork Spanking

Looking of this clip I am reminded of just how fallible our memories are. I can remember the Sergeant Cork television series from the 1960s and I do remember a spanking in it. My memory had it that the butler was watching through a keyhole as the daughter of the house was spanked by her irate father, but as you can see, it is a maid. I also remember that the mother was sitting down completely unconcerned as daddy laid on the whacks, but that is also not how it happened.

In case you are wondering, The Case of the Amateur Spy has Corkie investigating the theft of some naval documents, and he orders his deputy to visit a house that has been set up as a love nest for a young couple.

Cheers: The Spank Statement